Caught by the Cowboy Dad

by Melinda Curtis

  “That’s weird. My battery’s almost dead.” Devin flicked the bunk light switch on and off, which resulted in nothing happening. He hopped down from the bunk, shaking the entire rig. “The light up here doesn’t work anymore.”

  Holden converted the bunk back into a dinette. “If you want to read, go outside. The sun’s coming up. But if you’re going to sit at the picnic table, check to make sure the raccoons are gone first.” If Grandpa Harlan had been alive, he’d have given Holden grief for leaving food outside. “I’ll get a bucket of water and rinse the table off after breakfast.”

  “Ugh. Nature.” Devin rubbed his eyes. “Do I have time to shower before we eat?”

  “You do.” Holden sucked in the aroma of decaf coffee, wishing it was full strength. “Bacon takes a long time. Grab your stuff and a towel and head over to the bathrooms.”

  “Grab my...” Devin ran his hands over his face before gaping at Holden. “We have a shower here. And one in back. I can hear the water running in Bernadette’s bathroom.”

  Had he never taken his son camping before? Holden did a quick mental review. Nope. He’d shown him the world four times a year but never via RV. “Yes, we have a shower, but there were no water hookups, so we have limited resources.”

  “Which we can refill and—”

  “It’s called roughing it.” Holden pointed toward the door.

  Devin glanced around, making it clear he didn’t think the motor home was in any way rough.

  “Okay, this is your father’s version of roughing it.” Holden hung his head in mock shame. “Can you just...humor me and go take a shower at the campground facilities?”

  “Humor you?” Devin opened the bathroom door, flicked the light switch—which didn’t work—glared back at Holden and then grabbed a towel and his toothbrush. “If you wanted to be alone with Dr. Carlisle, you could have just said so.” He shoved his feet into his sneakers without tying them and stomped out the door.

  Lucky for him, the raccoons were gone.

  “That went well.” Holden gathered Devin’s books and pillow from the front bunk and stowed them in another cabinet. He pressed the controls to raise the bed back to the ceiling.

  Click. Click.

  The sound of no power.

  Holden flipped on the light switch over the sink.

  Again, nothing.

  Holden frowned. That couldn’t be. Devin had plugged in the motor home when they’d extended the bump-outs and awning yesterday. Just to make sure it wasn’t a single circuit that was malfunctioning, he went through the RV, flipping switches up and down. All with no effect.

  He was going to slip on his sneakers, but after all the talk about Texas, he took a box with his cowboy boots out of a cupboard and put them on. The insoles had molded themselves to the shape of his feet. It felt like coming home.

  He went outside to investigate. The motor home’s plug had fallen out of the electrical socket, which was odd. He tried plugging it in again, but the connection was so loose that the cord fell out again.

  “Is something wrong?” Dev returned from the campsite bathroom with his towel around his neck and his toothbrush in his mouth. His hair was wet, but he was returning so quickly that Holden doubted he’d showered. Or if he had, he hadn’t used soap.

  Typical teenage-boy behavior. He’d probably douse himself in body spray instead of deodorant next.

  Holden raised the power cord. “When you plugged this in, was it loose?”

  “Yeah. But I propped it there with a stick.”

  Holden looked around for said implement. There was a thin stick about eighteen inches long a few feet away. He picked it up. “This one?”

  “Yeah. I wasn’t sure it would stay in place.” He gave a brief laugh. “I guess when a tree falls, so does a branch.”

  Holden pressed his lips together. This was what his grandfather would say was spilled milk. No sense crying over it. Instead, he glanced around for a solution to the loose plug. There was nothing else near at hand to prop the cord in the socket.

  Devin wrinkled his brow. “Is there a problem?”

  “There’s no power in the motor home. But never fear.” Holden wouldn’t let this get to him. “I’ll just turn on the engine. That should give the system a recharge.” He went back inside, ducked beneath Devin’s bunk and got behind the wheel. “Why are the keys in the ignition?”

  And why was the key turned to the accessory position instead of locked and off?

  Devin knelt next to him, smelling of minty toothpaste. “My laptop wouldn’t charge last night on the outlet in my bunk. I plugged it into the lighter but that didn’t work, either. At least, not until I turned the key to Accessory mode.” He unplugged his laptop and opened it. The screen immediately came to life.

  Note to self: teach son about the limited power of vehicle batteries on Accessory mode.

  Holden turned the key to start the engine.

  Click-click-click-click.

  “The battery’s dead,” Holden announced unnecessarily in the same tone Bernadette had used the other day to proclaim them stuck in the ditch.

  “Good thing my laptop is charged.” Devin closed his device and stood, looking happy.

  “Way to find a silver lining, son.” Good dads didn’t resort to sarcasm, did they? Holden took a beat to modulate his tone. “Let’s think about this for a minute. Can we head off to Yellowstone in the next five minutes?”

  “No. But I can read the textbooks I downloaded a day ago on my laptop.” Oblivious to Holden’s subtle communication, Devin sat at the dinette. “When’s breakfast? I’m starved.”

  Good dads would bounce right back from this with a happy-go-lucky tone and a smile.

  “Why don’t you make yourself a sandwich?” Holden’s smile felt more like a grimace. “I’ll go up to the tour office. If Myrna doesn’t have jumper cables, I’ll call for a tow truck and a jump.” He had to do that right away given the scarcity of tow trucks up here. “In the meantime...” He rummaged in a bottom drawer for the emergency items he’d bought, which included a roll of duct tape. “I’ll make sure the plug doesn’t fall out this time.”

  * * *

  “WHERE’S YOUR DAD?” Bernadette emerged from the bedroom after her shower to find no Holden and no cooked breakfast. She crunched a peppermint.

  “Dad went to call for a tow truck because the battery went dead.” Devin spread peanut butter across a slice of bread. He held the bread in the palm of his hand and crumbs fell to the floor. “Breakfast is DIY.”

  Bernadette’s stomach growled. “That’s odd that the battery would die.”

  “Who knew leaving the ignition on Accessory would run the battery down? I mean, it makes sense to me now. But it’s a miracle Dad didn’t blow his stack.” Devin folded the bread over and took a bite, walking toward one of the lounge chairs without putting the lid back on the jar of peanut butter, removing the knife from the jar or wiping up the crumbs!

  Please let my baby be a neatnik.

  “Do you have a maid at home?” Bernadette asked absently.

  “What?” Devin already had his nose in a book.

  “Nothing.” She found a napkin in a drawer, took a slice of bread from the open loaf and applied a generous spread of peanut butter. “When in Rome...” Of course she put everything away and cleaned up the crumbs on both the counter and the floor before she ate hers. “Do you have a plan for all that reading you’re doing?”

  The teen took another bite of sandwich, marking a spot in his book with his finger before looking up. “I was hoping Dad would get so mad at me—or you—that he’d cancel the entire trip. Or, and this was a smaller possibility, that you guys would elope, and I’d be granted my freedom.” He had the good grace to blush.

  “Why can’t you just tell your father you want to change the week of your visit?”

  “I don’t wan
t to hurt his feelings. He tries so hard, you know?”

  She did. Or at least, he tried hard sometimes. But still, there was a lot to unpack here with Devin. “If I was wearing your dad’s expensive loafers, I’d be disappointed you couldn’t talk about your wishes honestly.”

  “I do talk honestly.” Devin fell back into his seat. “I told him I wanted to go to summer school. I just didn’t tell him when.”

  “You thought he’d take the hint.” Bernadette opened the refrigerator, looking for some juice.

  “Exactly.”

  She found a small container of orange juice. “You should have laid it all out there openly.”

  Devin shrugged. “Like I said, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  The picnic table was wet, as if someone had doused it with water, and the empty bag of marshmallows had been picked up.

  “So instead of telling him how you felt, you hoped he’d guess.” Bernadette shook her head at Devin. “You’re more like your father than you think.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “YOU LOOK RESTED, SUNSHINE,” Myrna greeted Holden when he came in the store. “Which is why I’m going to let you in, even though it’s only seven o’clock, which is an hour before opening.”

  Holden took stock of himself for the first time that morning. No elephants. No chest pressure. “Well, I’ll be darned.” Despite the battery drama, he was feeling better than he had in weeks. He glanced down at his boots.

  Myrna, on the other hand, didn’t look so good. She had bags under her eyes. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I need a jump.”

  Myrna frowned. “There are no extreme-sports jumps around here.”

  “Um... I meant the motor-home battery needs a jump. Do you have jumper cables?”

  “If we do, my husband Jim would have put them in the garage.” Myrna escorted him outside and to the small garage behind the store. She tugged and wrestled the door up. “Do you see them?”

  “No.” Cardboard boxes and plastic storage tubs were piled nearly to the ceiling. Jim or Myrna or both were hoarders. “Do you remember where you saw them last?”

  “No. Jim would know.” Myrna looked a little lost.

  “Where’s Jim?”

  She heaved a sigh. “Buried up the road in the cemetery. Lost him last year.”

  Myrna’s sad looks took on a deeper meaning.

  The last thing Holden wanted to do was agitate her grief. “Can we call your nephew? Tow trucks have jumper cables.”

  “You haven’t even tried to look.” Grunting, Myrna pushed a box a few inches to one side. “Jim would have wanted to help you.”

  “To be honest...” he glanced down at the old woman “...I’m afraid to. I never was good at Jenga.” The game where you removed blocks without tumbling the entire block tower.

  Myrna sighed. “I can call Tom, but he’s probably working up toward Aspen today.”

  “Great. We’ll wait.” Holden took a breath and counted to ten. There were still no elephants. No sickening ache in his chest.

  “You know what I do see?” She wrestled a fishing pole and tackle box from the stack of things nearest them. “The fish are always biting in the campground. It’s a good way to pass the time.”

  “I was never much of a fly fisherman.” His fingers were too large and clumsy to tie decent knots.

  “You can always take the mining tour again. First tour is at eleven. The band camp down the road made a reservation.” She pressed the pole and tackle box into his hands. “Even if you’re not so good with women, you do seem good with kids. Or should I say your son?”

  “I’m offended.” He gave her his most winning grin. “I’m quite good with ladies of all ages.”

  “Francesca would disagree. But—” Myrna tsked “—whatever you tell yourself to make sleeping easier. If you aren’t going to dig through my boxes, bring that sweet doctor with you at eleven. I got a new box of merchandise delivered this morning. There might be something in there she might like.”

  Holden couldn’t imagine Myrna having space for anything else in her store or ordering anything Bernadette might need and said so.

  The old woman laughed at him. “You have a lot to learn about pregnant women, sunshine. They nest, and nesting requires buying things.”

  He hiked back down the trail to the motor home, carrying the fishing gear and thinking about providing an adequate nest for his child. Bea would need everything from a crib to a car seat. And she’d need someone strong at her side. There was still a chance he could convince her to marry him if he played his cards right.

  Bernadette sat outside the motor home in one of the folding chairs. She wore blue jeans and a lavender hoodie over a white tank top. Her red cowboy boots were propped up on a picnic table bench. She had a bag of knitting in her lap. Even from a distance, he could see her stitches were uneven and her frown was deep.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

  “No. I thought knitting would take my mind off my morning sickness and be relaxing.” She lowered her work and crunched what smelled like a mint. “But these knitting instructions read like they’re in a foreign language. If Odette was here, she’d have me start over. But having started over three times already, I’d rather push through to end this torture and earn myself a nap.” She glanced down at his footwear. “Nice boots. Rattlesnake?”

  “Yes.”

  “They look broken-in. I would have expected gold-tipped alligator.”

  “I think I’m offended.” Not really. He enjoyed teasing her, though. “That offense calls for an apology kiss, don’t you think?” He waggled his brows playfully.

  She wasn’t falling for it. “Holden, what happened last night—”

  “I’ll take a rain check on that kiss,” Holden interrupted her, overriding her attempts to talk about last night. He set the tackle box on the picnic table and leaned the fishing pole against it. “We’re at the mercy of the tow truck once more, unless the school bus shows up with jumper cables. Did you eat?”

  “I’ll call Shane for a lift just as soon as I finish another row.” She held up her work and wrinkled her nose.

  “You’re not leaving.” Holden didn’t exactly say it as a command, but he didn’t exactly say it as a question, either.

  Bernadette turned her gaze from her knitting to him, adjusting her no-nonsense black eyeglasses. “I said I’d spend a night, and I spent two.”

  Moment of truth, Monroe.

  Somehow, he knew this was a make-or-break situation. He had to speak his mind or let her go. “I’m not what Myrna would call a prize, Bea. But when I take your advice and draw a deep breath, when I stare at the blue sky and try to calm my thoughts, it’s your face that I see. And when I look back on the past year and my regrets, it’s your face that I see. I can’t quit this yet. What we have is special.”

  “You quit us the day I told you how I felt about you,” she said evenly.

  He’d much prefer her shook-up. He dared to come closer, dared to take her hand. “I wasn’t well.”

  “What are you saying?” Her words were carefully measured.

  He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I haven’t figured out my future, but there’s one thing I know for certain.” He tapped a spot over his heart with his free hand. “You should be a part of it. Stay the week with us.”

  Her gaze didn’t soften. “Why?”

  “Because we’re a family. Of sorts.” Why did he have to sound uncertain?

  She tugged her hand free, digging her fingers into her ball of yarn.

  “You said we needed to be a team, Bea,” he said softly, trying to make up for mistakes, past and present, but not ready to fully commit with those three words she seemed to need. “And I...I think I need this time away from everyone else to rest and reset. I think I could learn how to be a good father and maybe
more.” Maybe he could learn to be the man Bernadette would trust again.

  Movement in the motor home made him think Devin was listening, too.

  “You don’t need me along.” Bernadette got to her feet, dropping her yarn in her seat in an awkward bit of movement that lacked forward momentum.

  He took that opportunity to capture her hands, to trace the delicate bumps of her knuckles with his thumbs. Back and forth. Over and over. “I need you, Bea.”

  “For my medical advice and to raise the child we created.” She stared at the ground. Or perhaps at those red cowboy boots which were covered with a soft layer of dust, the way his unused heart was.

  “I’ll forever be grateful for your medical care and your advice, but I want you on this trip because we need organic time together. Not to hash out custody but to figure out if this thing between us has viability.”

  “You’re analyzing our relationship with a spreadsheet?”

  “No.” He frowned. Was he?

  “And what’s this about organic time?” She stared at their joined hands as if hypnotized. “Is there such a thing?”

  Soft footsteps came down the motor-home steps. Devin was still listening in.

  The significance of the moment wasn’t lost on Holden. The two most important people in the world to him were waiting to hear his next words. “Bea, we’ve been setting up dates and maximizing small moments of time. Contrived time. I offered to marry you. Twice. We’d both agree that was a contrived proposal. But if we’re just hanging out for days, if we let our guards down and be who we really are with each other, we’ll know if our relationship will thrive.”

  “I can go back to Boston,” Devin offered through the screen door.

  “No!” Bernadette and Holden said at the same time.

  “Guys.” Devin opened the RV door. He was wearing khakis and a polo, as if it was the only wardrobe he’d packed. “If I stay, I’ll just be a thorny weed in your organic vegetable garden.”

  “I said nothing about vegetables,” Holden told him. And then he stared tenderly at Bernadette. “Forget we’re having a baby together. Forget I resided too much in my head when we dated. Forget I ignored you for weeks. Forget I proposed.”